


i want you and i want him

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, THEY WERE ALL ROOMMATES, bottom jaime is the only jaime my heart knows, but also they all pair off before the main event, jaime lannister: human disaster, so ship tags are accurate, stable triad, three best friends in sexy sexy love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: It’s notJaime’sfault he’s in love with his best friends.It’s not.If anything, it’stheirfault. Collectively and singularly. He hasalwaysbeen a serial monogamist. He’s the best at falling in love hard and fast and with one person, even when that person doesn’t bestow the same courtesy upon him.--The only thing better than being in love with your best friends is when they're in love with you, too.
Relationships: Addam Marbrand/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Addam Marbrand/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 39
Kudos: 127





	i want you and i want him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/gifts).



> Thank you to my many friends that looked over this for me at various points. Remaining mistakes and oddities are all my fault because I've tweaked with it since they had their eyeballs on it last. Happy end of 2020.

It’s not _Jaime’s_ fault he’s in love with his best friends. 

It’s not. 

If anything, it’s _their_ fault. Collectively and singularly. He has _always_ been a serial monogamist. He’s the best at falling in love hard and fast and with one person, even when that person doesn’t bestow the same courtesy upon him. 

It’s just--It’s only--

There’s always been this undercurrent of comfort and tension between the three of him, at least on his side, but he’s spent a decade pretending it’s not there. He loves them both so much; they’re his touchstones in this world, and he can’t lose them. He can’t. They’re the first two people in the world that have ever cared about him without _needing_ something from him. Tyrion had needed his protection; Cersei had needed his attention; Tywin had needed -- well, something that Jaime didn’t possess, that much he knows. 

It’s taken him the better part of a decade to accept that they want him around just for the sake of liking him. It’s still hard sometimes.

Maybe it’s always been an inevitability. 

He’s an idiot that way. Of course he falls in love with the only two people in the world he trusts implicitly, and the only two people he can’t bear to lose because of his stupid feelings. 

\--

It had only taken a couple of weeks of Jaime moving back in before everything had felt normal again. Now, six months later, it’s hard for Brienne to remember what it was like for that year he was gone. 

It’s certainly more _dynamic_ with him around. 

Jaime takes up so much _space_. Not his things, not his volume, not his size, just the very Jaime of him seems to fill up every empty corner of the apartment. She and Addam don’t need him here; it’s why they never bothered to find a roommate to replace him. The idea of trying to shift their patterns to accommodate a stranger--there was no appeal in it.

She’s comfortable with Addam. She’s comfortable with him in a way she only is with Jaime, too. It just works better with Jaime than when it’s just two of them together. They both need Jaime’s spark, his complete inability to temper his enthusiasm when he’s passionate about something, his easy forgiveness and freely given affection. She and Addam are _careful_ , albeit for different reasons. Addam is just the sort of steady, calm person she wishes she could be. She and Jaime probably rely on him too much to be the bulwark between them and their self-destructive tendencies. Jaime is incapable of saying no if he thinks someone needs him; she is unable to stop from pushing past the point of exhaustion when she deems something important.

Without Addam there--well, she hasn’t had to think about it since high school. She barely remembers the pain of her first thirteen years, because after that had been Jaime and Addam and their incomprehensible bond. 

There had been Jaime with his lifted chin and thousand watt smile, daring anyone to look askance at her. There had been Addam, defiantly standing between her, Jaime, and Ron Connington’s band of assholes. She had been there, going behind their backs and pinning Aerys Targaryen to a wall behind the baseball field, making it clear that if he didn’t stop fucking with Jaime’s chances at being starting catcher, nothing in the world could save him from her and Addam. 

As long as they’re together, everything will be okay.

She’s always known that. 

\--

Addam may suck at verbalizing it, but having Jaime back home uncoils a knot of tension within him. He’s not sure when Jaime and Brienne became _his_ , not in a possessive way, not in a way where he would begrudge them their happiness apart from him, but it felt fundamentally wrong for it to be just him and Brienne without Jaime’s wild enthusiasm for something as banal as a perfectly ripe peach. 

And.

There’s a certain tension that comes from living with Jaime. It’s easier to ignore when he’s not around because both he and Brienne are pretty hands off in general. She’s always been reserved in general; she doesn’t smile easily, or trust easily, and she’s still bad at asking for affection or touch. He’s not a lot better, truth to tell. It’s so much simpler to just make his two best friend’s lives easier. But Jaime--Jaime wouldn’t know reserved if he memorized the dictionary definition of it. 

Jaime doesn’t like the idea of personal space; he wants to be held and he wants to hold. He’s a bit like a dog in that respect. He stands nearby while Addam cooks; he counts reps for Brienne; he sits closer than is totally normal while they watch a game. He’s handsy. Not in a bad way, he just seems to always be near with a hug or a pat on the shoulder or a hip bump. 

Addam’s never felt touch starved, but he recognizes it in Jaime, and he gives any time Jaime asks in a thousand silent ways for reassurance. He recognizes it in Brienne, too, but she won’t ask, she never has; luckily, after all this time he can see it in the tension of her jaw or the level of her shoulders. She doesn’t melt into it the way Jaime does, but she’ll tilt her head and the tension will drain from her like a puppet cut from its strings. She’ll slow blink and smile at him, and the warmth in her expression feels like -- well, like nothing else.

But there’s an undercurrent to it; something that makes it not completely platonic, not familial. 

Maybe it’s in the happy little moan Jaime makes when he curls into a hug, or the feel of his stubble and mouth on Addam’s collarbone; maybe it’s in the way Brienne’s wide grin makes Addam feel likes he’s won the championship, or in how firm and strong she is when she hugs him. 

Maybe it’s everything and nothing. 

Whatever it is, it’s _there_. They’ve all ignored it in favor of -- well, for Addam, it’s in favor of being the person they can trust with anything; it’s in favor of never risking the people he loves the most in the world. 

Really, it’s no big sacrifice. 

\--

“I think I need to move out,” Jaime says.

Addam and Brienne blink at him in tandem. 

Brienne reaches across the coffee table to grab his hand. “Jaime, you don’t know how to boil water.”

He scowls at the both of them and takes his hand out of hers. 

“Why do you _need_ to move out?” Addam asks, staring at him with a suspicious look on his face.

“I just do.”

Brienne tilts her head, her mouth pulling into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Jaime answers too vehemently, too quickly. 

She looks _sad_ at his response and Addam looks almost-angry. 

“We’re not your family,” Addam says, which would sting, except that he follows it up with, “we’re not going to eviscerate you for honesty.”

Jaime swallows past the lump of panic in his throat. There’s no easy way out. Either he tells them the truth and ruins everything, or he lies, abandons them, and ruins everything. Why he thought he could have and keep something nice in his life is beyond him. He’s a Lannister, everything he touches turns to gold-plated shit. 

He closes his eyes, like the coward he is, and blurts it out. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Neither of them responds. 

It could be seconds. 

It could be hours. 

Time has no meaning. 

When Jaime finally opens his eyes again, he half expects the sun to have set. It hasn’t. 

In fact, not much has changed, except that Brienne and Addam both look confused now. 

“Me?” Brienne asks in a tremulous voice, confused and uncertain. “Or--” she points to Addam with lifted eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Jaime says helplessly. 

“What?” she asks.

“Both of you.”

“Oh,” she says.

“ _Oh_ ,” Addam says.

“Yeah,” Jaime says. “ _Yeah_.”

“How long?” Addam asks, voice rough, face unreadable.

Jaime shrugs. “I don’t know. A while.”

“How do you--” Brienne’s brows furrow, almost meeting over her nose. “Why do you think you’re _in love_ with us?”

“Because I _am_ ,” he says. “Because I want to spend every waking and most sleeping hours with you both. I want to kiss you and touch you and fuck you and be fucked and be the meat in a Brienne-Addam sandwich of love.”

By the end of his spiel, Jaime has his face buried in his hands. 

The silence isn’t deafening, it’s just nerve wracking. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it’s not easy, and he’s not doing a very good job. He starts when someone takes his hands and pulls them gently away from his face. He looks up to see Brienne’s face hovering in front of his, a soft expression in her eyes. 

“Stop panicking.”

Jaime looks at Addam, but his face is just as calm, like a placid lake.

“We’re surprised,” Brienne says. “Well, I am.” She glances over her shoulder at Addam and he nods in agreement. “It’s...well. We’re surprised. It’s surprising. I can genuinely say this particular thing has never happened to me before.”

“Well, me neither,” Jaime says. He definitely doesn’t whine. He is an adult man. Whining is no longer in his lexicon. “I don’t know what happened. It’s like one day I looked up and all I could see was...legs. Long, freckled, pale, _strong_ legs.”

“You love us for our legs?” she asks, disbelieving and maybe a touch offended. 

“ _No_.” Jaime sighs, frustrated. “I--It’s...complicated. I love you both, but I loved you as friends for so long, and then when Melara dumped me and I came back--it was like a switch flipped in my time away. I don’t think I was ever in love with her. I’m _pretty_ sure that’s why she dumped me. I tried my best. Fuck, _I_ thought I was in love with her. That’s why I left you. It’s what you do. You date for a while and move in together and--” He shrugs helplessly. “It’s been a disaster since I moved back in. For me, I mean. Disastrous for me.”

“Jaime,” Addam says calmly. It centers him and it’s only then he realizes how tense and frantic he’s been. “Are either of us freaking out?”

“No,” he says faintly. 

Addam nods. “Then stop panicking.” 

“I can’t screw this up.” He knows he looks pathetic and pleading, but oh well. “I can’t lose you, so I have to leave before I _do_.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Brienne says softly, lifting a hand cup his cheek. “I didn’t put up with you through all four years of high school for you to run me off by loving me.”

For a brief moment, Jaime wants to run away from her and the look of kindness and affection and care in her expression, but then Addam is at his elbow, setting a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that would normally calm his singing nerves, but instead simply sets his stomach roiling. 

“We’re not running away,” he says, rubbing Jaime’s shoulder, massaging the tight muscle. 

“I can’t speak for Addam but--” Brienne swallows, her face tightening in the same way it always does when she’s about to bare her soft underbelly. “This isn’t-- _Jaime_. This isn’t a problem for me.”

“Yeah,” Addam says. “Me either.”

Jaime grimaces. “You don’t have to be nice about it.”

“I’m not being nice,” she insists. “I--I mean, I’m surprised but I’m not upset. I’m not upset _at all_.”

He looks at her carefully, at the strong pink flush that darkens her cheeks and chest, and then he looks at Addam who certainly doesn’t seem off-put either. 

“Are you saying…” Jaime trails off, not even knowing how to phrase it. 

“I’m saying that I’m … open to discussions,” Brienne says carefully. 

“Gods,” Addam grumbles. “Jaime, what exactly are you proposing?”

He says it in that way Addam has, when he’s done with tact and just wants a straight answer to something. He uses the same tone when Jaime can’t decide if he wants to order pizza or Thai food.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t think this was going to go anywhere but with me leaving and losing you both.”

“Do you want to be with us?” Brienne asks. 

“Yes,” he says with a deep sigh. “Yes, that’s the problem.”

“Maybe it’s not,” she says quietly, glancing at Addam who raises his eyebrow and nods once. Jaime’s heart trips over in his chest. “Let’s --” she pauses. “This is a lot to take in, and I don’t want to--let’s order some food, get a beer, you can take a deep breath, and we can talk about this. The three of us.”

\-- 

If there are any two people less equipped than Brienne and Jaime to discuss the finer points of polyamory and threesomes, Addam hopes to never meet them. He doesn’t know how two people can be so externally emotional and simultaneously so bad at managing or talking about those very visible feelings. 

They’re halfway through their pizzas and there’s still nothing being said but vague pleasantries in tight voices. As per usual, it’s left to him to light the fuse. 

“So,” Addam says firmly. Jaime and Brienne’s heads snap to look at him, whatever pleasantries they’d been exchanging cut off. “We should actually talk about the thing we’re avoiding.” Addam does his level best not to roll his eyes when they do nothing more than stare at him, like rabbits gone tharn. “How are we going to do this?”

“Do this?” Jaime repeats. Addam simply lifts an eyebrow. Jaime’s mouth tightens, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow. “I didn’t get that far.”

“Okay.” Addam leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and looking between Jaime and Brienne steadily. “We have a few options. Either you can date one or both of us, or you can fuck one or both of us, or you can date one of us and just fuck the other.”

Brienne flushes bright red; the color drains from Jaime’s face a touch. 

“I don’t want it to just be fucking,” Jaime says softly. 

“Brienne?” Addam asks when she doesn’t agree or disagree. 

“Hm? Oh. Agreed. I wouldn’t--I wouldn’t be as comfortable if it was only sex.” She swallows visibly. “I care about you both too much. I--I don’t think I would be good at not, you know, catch feelings.”

“Thank the gods,” Jaime says. “I did just confess I was in love with you both. If it’s only sex--it would be better to do nothing. I can’t handle it just being a fuck. And I don’t want -- look, it’s not fair to you both if you’re not -- if you don’t want to be together, but I was hoping…” He trails off and grips his sweats in his hands. 

Brienne flushes a shade of pink Addam’s never seen on another human being, but she manages to make eye contact with him, and it’s there in her expression, the same thing he avoids thinking about: desire. But not just heat, the sort of heat that’s wrapped up in years of friendship and love and understanding. 

“I love you,” he says, turning his gaze to Jaime. “And I love Brienne.” He had thought it would be harder than it is, but it feels as easy as asking for one of them to pass the popcorn. It’s simple because it’s nothing more than the truth spoken to the only two people he trusts implicitly. 

“Yeah,” she says, too loud and then the word fading to too soft, as if she surprises herself with the volume, her nerves getting the better of her. “I love you both. Not just as friends.”

Jaime looks gobsmacked. Addam’s pretty sure a stiff breeze could knock him from his seat on the couch. “Then we--” but he can’t seem to finish the sentence, his eyes darting between the two of them swiftly. 

“Then we do this,” Addam says firmly. “Or we at least try. I just want you both to understand that even if the sex doesn’t work, it doesn’t change anything. We can’t allow that. All right?”

Jaime and Brienne both nod in agreement and for a stupid moment, Addam considers extending his pinkie for a quick swear, but decides better of it.

\--

Brienne is a genius so of course she’s the one that comes up with _the system_. 

It works like this:

They will all partner off for one-on-one sessions to make sure that there are no sudden tap-outs. If all goes well, they’ll all climb in bed together. Because as she so rightly points out: throwing three people into bed when none of them have ever touched one another sexually before sounds like asking for someone to throw themselves off a bed in a rush of _what the fuck am I doing?_

It’s Jaime who presents the first conundrum. 

“Who sleeps with who in which order?”

Brienne blinks. Then Addam blinks. Then they blink at each other. There’s a lot of blinking. 

“Draw straws?” Addam asks. 

“Oh good,” Brienne says dryly. “It’ll be great to see who gets the short straw.”

“Well coins only have two sides, so if you have a better idea…” 

“We could spin the bottle,” Jaime suggests. 

Another round of blinking, until Addam finally asks, “How would _that_ work?”

“Well, we all spin the bottle and the first person it lands on is the one you sleep with first.”

“What if I spin and get you and you spin and get me, where does that leave Addam?” asks Brienne.

“Then we go first and whomever Addam spins is second and the leftover couple is third.”

Brienne looks at Addam, who shrugs. She shrugs back, and they both look at Jaime. 

“Fine.”

\--

Spin the bottle devolves into drunken spin the bottle pretty quickly. They only have half a fifth of whiskey and it’s the perfect amount for three strapping specimens of humanity to get tipsy but not wasted on before playing a junior high game no one has ever played in real life, all for the honors of fucking each other. 

Jaime is feeling pleasantly warm by the time they all sit in a circle on the living room floor, coffee table shoved to one side so they have room for three people over six feet to sit far enough apart that the bottle can skitter a bit. 

“Who goes first?” Jaime asks, lifting his eyes from the bottle to look at his two friends, both pink-cheeked and heavy-lidded. 

“Ladies first,” Addam says, smirking without even looking at Brienne, knowing from experience that she’ll scowl at him. 

She grumbles but spins anyway. A frisson of excitement trickles down Jaime’s spine until he has to push his hands into the carpet to keep from tapping his fingers on his knees as the bottle slowly comes to a stop pointing straight at Addam. He and Brienne share a look Jaime can’t totally pick apart, Addam licks his lips, and Brienne’s alcohol flush turns into a much darker, specific blush.

“We’re going clockwise,” she says, looking over at Addam. “Your turn.” 

Addam’s lands on Jaime, and somehow it’s _that_ moment that makes Jaime realize that this is happening, that he’s going to _fuck_ Addam, or hopefully Addam is going to fuck him. And then he glances over at Brienne and he realizes: _fuck_ , he’s going to get everything he asked for. 

\--

Brienne has never been the sort to let it go, so when she tries to put dates on the whiteboard calendar for sex, Jaime has to put a stop to it. 

“No offense, but I can’t think of anything less likely to get me hard than having it scheduled like a doctor’s appointment.”

She glares at him, still wielding the dry erase marker in her hand. “You want to just leave it to chance?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” he says, giving her a look that makes it absolutely obvious how completely she’s lost her marbles.

“Fine. So, did you want me and Addam to just go do it now? Make sure we get a real racket up? Lots of moaning and screaming and calling of each other’s names while you sit in here and eat crackers?” 

The fact that his dick gets a little hard makes Jaime hate himself _just a little_. “No,” he says, but even he can hear the question mark at the end instead of a period.

Brienne’s cheeks immediately flush, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. 

“Look,” Addam interrupts the increasingly fraught tete-a-tete. “It’s not as if we’re all three together at all times. We all have jobs. We all have obligations. We even run errands occasionally. We don’t need a calendar and we don’t need to tell someone else to scram so we can fuck without an audience. Can we all just--” He gestures to encompass the fuckery of whatever Jaime and Brienne are doing. They stare at him. “Can we be adults about this?”

Jaime narrows his eyes in annoyance, but Brienne huffs and uses the hem of her sleeve to wipe away small _A &B? _on Saturday. 

\--

It ends up working out that tentative Saturday anyway. Jaime has regular clients on Saturdays, businessmen that think they’re too important to leave work in time for a personal training session on a weekday. That’s why Brienne chose Saturday in the _first_ place. 

Jaime’s been gone an hour, Brienne’s finished her morning smoothie, and Addam is rinsing out his coffee cup when Briene clears her throat. He looks over, one ginger eyebrow arched. 

“So…” she trails off. It’s weird to try and proposition your friend out of nowhere. 

Well. Not out of nowhere. They know it’s going to happen, or that they’ll try it, they also know it’ll probably happen on a Saturday when they’re home and Jaime’s out, and yet finding a way to say--

“So wanna fuck?” Addam asks drolly.

Brienne glares at him. “Yes, Addam. Do _you_ want to fuck?” 

“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “Your room or mine?” 

“Mine,” she says on instinct, not bothering to think about it. 

He wipes his hands off on the dish towel slung over the cabinet and gestures behind her. “Lead the way.”

She nods curtly and leads him to the hallway, as if he doesn’t know where her room is; as if he’s some stranger she’s simply hooking up with. By the time they make it the twenty steps to her room, her stomach feels weird, and her ankles feel unsteady for some reason, and when she closes the door behind her, she has to take a moment with her hand still on the knob to take a steadying breath before turning to face him. 

Addam is standing in the middle of her room, hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweats, his hair a bright copper in the late morning sunlight streaming through her window. There’s a steadiness to Addam that has always been soothing. He’s nearly the exact opposite of Jaime; calm where Jaime is wild; measured rather than extreme; a placid lake to Jaime’s raging river. Still, there’s a deep well of passion in there. She missed it when she first moved in. Jaime takes up so much space, loud and emotional and enthusiastic about everything. They were both more than happy to let Jaime lay the groundwork.

Brienne’s not sure they would ever have been close friends without Jaime absent-mindedly tearing down all of their carefully constructed walls. Well. Her walls. Addam’s inherently quiet nature. 

“Is this weird?” Brienne asks, shifting from one foot to the other. “I feel like this is weird.”

“It’s not normal.” Addam glances around her room as if he’s never seen it before. 

“We don’t have to do this.”

He looks at her, one of those familiar assessing expressions on his face. If Jaime is a golden retriever, Addam is a perpetually unimpressed housecat. “No,” he says carefully, “we don’t.”

She recognizes that tone. It’s the annoying one that means he won’t show his cards until he knows the lay of the land. 

“I’m not going to be offended if you change your mind.” It’s true. Mostly. “I’m sure we can figure something out that doesn’t involve you having to--”

“Or _you_ having to,” he interrupts.

“Like it would be a chore,” she pops off before thinking better of it, immediately flushing bright pink. 

All Addam does is lift an eyebrow, an amused tilt to his mouth.

“Oh, fuck off,” she grumbles. “It isn’t brand new information that you’re good looking.”

He opens his mouth, but before he can do something stupid like being nice or charming, she cuts him off, “And don’t get all--” she gestures up and down to convey...whatever it would be if he tried to say she was pretty or something “--you can be a straight-shooter with me, you know that.”

His mouth tenses and his chest hiccups. 

“Please don’t make a come joke,” she says desperately.

He does laugh then, but it breaks some of the weird tension between them, and he steps closer to her. He sighs, but it’s not sad or despairing, it’s just … fond, maybe. He brushes a lock of hair away from her cheek. 

“Look,” he says, “we both love one wrecking ball disguised as a human. Would I have tried to sleep with you if not for him? No. I love you and Jaime way too much to fuck this up just because I got too attached.”

“I know the feeling.”

“But--” He leans closer, close enough that she can feel his breath hot against her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

“Yeah?” she asks, surprised at the breathy sound of her voice. “

“Yeah.” He settles a hand on her hip; it’s large enough this his fingers can dig into her ass while his thumb rubs along the ridge of her hip bone. “Especially when you’re doing squat reps.”

“You’re an ass man?” she asks, a small puff of laughter escaping her nose. 

“I’m an anything man,” he answers steadily. “But yeah, I guess so. I thought a lot about what it would be like to fuck someone that could match me in strength.”

Brienne swallows. “You think you can match me?” 

He smiles, a wicked tilt to his lips. “I think I want to try.”

“Me, too,” she says quietly, like it’s still an admission. 

“Good.” He grips her waist and pulls her closer without warning. 

He kisses her firmly. It’s _good_. Maybe a little weird at first, but he’s a good kisser and it doesn’t take her very long to forget the part where this only started because of Jaime; it’s easy to forget it was ever anything other than wanting Addam. 

Addam still tastes faintly of coffee, but his mouth is warm, and his tongue firm when he slicks it along her own. She sighs, something within her uncoiling, relieved that she _wants_ to press against him and run her hands through his hair, curling her fingers in the wavy thick hair at the crown of his head. He moans softly when she tugs just a little, his grip on her waist tightening. He turns her to walk her back to the bed, crawling over her once she settles against the pillows. His cock is already half hard against her thigh, his thumb circling her nipple and sending fireworks sparking through her veins. He kisses a line away from her mouth and down her neck as his hands slip between the worn cotton of her t-shirt. He skims his fingers up her flank and over her ribs and she can’t stop the loud cackle as she jerks away. 

“Sorry, sorry, ticklish.” She shakes her head, takes a breath, and says, “Firmer. I’ll wriggle off the bed if you try to be cute about it.”

He _grabs_ her, grip tight and fingertips pressing into her muscles enough that she gasps and arches against him. He shifts and presses a leg between her own, grinding his thigh against her through her sleep shorts harder and harder as arousal starts to build in her stomach, warm and spreading. 

She hisses, pushing back against the firm muscles of his thigh, her hands holding his upper arms tight enough he’ll have faint bruises against his pale skin. He pushes up the hem of her t-shirt until it’s nearly over her breasts; she pushes against his chest firmly, stopping him by some base level instinct. He levers off of her, chest flushed and eyes glassy, lips wet and swollen, sweats tented by his cock. 

“Time out?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“No, no.” She shakes her head, placing her palms flat on his pecs and taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and recentering. She’s not even sure why she stopped him, just that she wanted to -- to wrest some control over the situation again. “I’m going to take my own shirt off,” she says firmly, earning her a raised eyebrow and the tiniest quirk of a smile. But Addam settles back on his heels anyway while she sits up. She whips her shirt over her head, eyes never leaving his face, only remembering when his eyes drop to her chest that she’s not wearing a bra. She’s at home and her breasts are small and … and fuck bras. But she kind of regrets it now since she went from fully dressed to tits-out in one fell swoop and now her very good friend is staring at the barely-there swells on her chest. She follows his gaze. Her boobs are...her boobs. Small, mostly muscle in her estimation, with currently-tight pale pink nipples and a smattering of tan freckles. 

When she lifts her eyes, he’s at least looking at her face again, but now he looks _interested_. He tears his own shirt off. She only has a second to think to herself that they must make quite a sight--milk-white and freckled skin all tangled up like the ghosts of sexcapades past--before he’s on her, yanking her to him and kissing her deeply, his hand coming up to cup one of her breasts, finger and thumb plucking her nipple. 

“ _Oh_.” She whimpers, grinding against his hard cock. 

He smiles against her mouth, before leaning down to suck one of her nipples between his lips, scraping it along his teeth before soothing it with a warm swipe of his tongue. It’s been so long, and Addam, may the gods damn him, is really rather good with his teeth and tongue and the seemingly absent-minded teasing of her other nipple before he changes position. 

She curls her legs around his hips, pulling him down until his erection is a heavy weight against her already needy flesh. He lifts his hips just enough to slip a hand beneath her panties, slipping past the tight thatch of curls to the slick, hot skin of her cunt, pressing past the outer lips to slip his fingers into her. She gasps, arching against him, the sudden stretch of two of his fingers enough to remind her of just what she’d been missing in the months since . 

She shoves at the waistband of his sweats, opening her thighs wider, moaning when he grinds the heel of his hand into her clit. She manages to wrap a hand around his cock, but just barely, his skin smooth over the rigid length of him; there’s already moisture gathered at the tip when she swipes her thumb over it, causing his body to bow away, his hips thrusting into her grip.

“Fuck,” she says, biting down on his shoulder. “Fuck me.” He groans, moving with the stroke of her hand. “ _Addam_.”

“Shit, fine.” He levers off of her, raking his hands through his hair, breathing heavily, looking at her like he wants to _eat_ her. Later, she’ll think about how weird sex is, how she can know his hair smells like pussy, and that she’s blotchy with arousal, and that his sweatpants are holding onto his thighs, only his cock and balls pulled over the top of them. 

It’s _ridiculous_ and it’s hot and gods, she wants to fuck. 

“Condoms are in the drawer,” she says, tilting her head to her bedside table. He leans over, his cock sliding against her stomach, grumbling until he finally clenches with triumph, kneeling over her foil in hand. She kicks off her shorts and underwear while he rolls the condom on and then he’s between her legs and pressing inside of her and the thick, stretching burn is so good. It’s so so good. 

Addam doesn’t exactly make her feel small, no one does, but she also thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is what romance novels mean when a man takes a woman. He doesn’t take it soft and slow; he doesn’t play at romance or tenderness. He fucks her from the beginning, groaning as he bottoms out, buried completely inside her for only a moment before he starts moving back and forth. She brings her legs up to hook around his waist, opening herself even more, letting him in even deeper. 

She reaches between them, fingers finding her clit, a whimpering moan at the first swipe of her finger that quickly builds to an almost embarrassing cacophony of whining, whimpering, groaning and gasping, her hand slapping over her head to hold steady with the violence of their bodies battling to reach the peak. 

When she comes, she slams her hand into the wall nearly hard enough to worry about the plaster, curling up to sink her teeth into Addam’s shoulder so that she screams into his flesh rather than into the empty apartment. He groans like a dying man when he finally comes, grinding into her, sending aftershock sparks down her nerve endings when his pelvis rubs her still sensitive clit. 

He rolls off of her, lying on his back, breathing heavily. She’s vaguely aware at some point that he leans over far enough to toss the condom into the trash can beneath her desk but she’s too busy just trying to catch her breath to care.

Once her mind clears and she can think anything other than _yesyesyes_ , she realizes she feels no need to reach for her clothes or a blanket. It’s just Addam. Who gives a fuck what she looks like post-orgasm? She knows she’s blotchy with exertion, sweaty, too. Her body definitely isn’t any curvier or less muscular or smaller just because he shouted her name. 

But then Addam says, “Can I say something you probably aren’t going to like?”

And just like that she wants nothing more than to be in her biggest sweats underneath the massive duvet in her own room. She manages to resist the urge to reach for her stuff, but she does roll onto her side and curl up a bit facing him. “Sure,” she says.

He looks over at her, eyebrows drawing together slightly and she knows she hasn’t quite hidden the tremor in her voice.

“I know you know you aren’t _pretty_ ,” he says, all forthright and factual, not like a barb flung her way, but it still scratches at old wounds. “But some girls--” 

“Women,” she corrects automatically.

“ _Women_. Some women aren’t pretty or beautiful or any of those things. They aren’t even _sexy_ , but they are _hot_. You don’t have to be cute or delicate for that to be true. I know you hate hearing compliments, so just...think about it.”

She can’t respond for a moment because... because Addam doesn’t want anything from her for the admission. He’s already said he loves her; he clearly wants her, and the sex was _great._ There’s no reason for him to--

“I’ll think about it,” she says quietly.

Addam snorts. “Okay, Tarth.”

\--

When Jaime finally gets home from his last training session, sweat-soaked and sore, all he wants is a hot shower to soothe his weary muscles and clean the dried sweat from his hair. Brienne’s head peeks around the corner to greet him and he knows immediately what happened while he was gone. She looks almost amusingly relaxed, languid and softly pleased, and when he walks past the open door of her bedroom, the sheets are missing from her bed. 

It surprises him that the only thing he does is smile in satisfaction. 

\--

Brienne insists she needs a girl’s night with Catelyn and someone else a week later. Addam can’t help but think she also wants to clear out, especially when she gives him a _look_. He hasn’t actually had much experience with men -- barely any really, just some quick handjobs and blowjobs on away games after a victory...or a defeat. It’s easy to get horny, and it’s easy to give each other a hand. 

He has no idea how to even _start_ with Jaime; Jaime, his best friend of fifteen years, his roommate for eight, but Jaime just smiles at him, a happy, buoyant expression, and heads to his own bedroom. There's nothing for it but to follow him. 

The best and worst thing about Jaime is that he dives into things headfirst, so the fact that Addam barely has a chance to close the door before he has an armful of Jaime isn’t exactly a surprise. It’s actually a relief. He’s all enthusiasm, groping hands and biting teeth and probing tongue. Addam cups his jaw and soothes a hand up and down his flank, trying to gentle him and calm some of the fire. 

It works. Kind of. He stops biting, at least, trailing kisses down Addam’s neck as his fingers dig into Addam’s back. 

“Jaime?” That actually stops him, as he slowly peels himself away from Addam. There’s a flicker of doubt in Jaime’s expression that has Addam kissing him again, hot and open, wet and wanting, only stopping once he feels the tension leach out of him. “Take a breath, okay?”

Addam doesn’t have much height on Jaime, and he’s much more wiry, but he’s strong enough he could maneuver Jaime onto the bed even if he wanted to play at resistance. He holds Jaime firmly to the bed by his shoulders. “Stay.”

He’s grateful that Jaime listens. It’s not that he’s a complete stranger to Jaime’s body. There were teenage jerk sessions, watching porn together, not realizing how weird it was until later. Being horny and having no hang-ups about getting his rocks off with another man had its logical conclusions, and knowing exactly what Jaime’s cock looks and tastes like is one of them. But they haven’t done anything since they were teenagers, stuck on long away trips for baseball tournaments and afforded the privacy of locked motel door. Not even a musty, questionably clean comforter could quiet the post-win-boner desperation. 

Now, with Jaime splayed before him, soft, an open expression on his face of want and need and desire all twisted up with love -- well, it hits Addam straight in the solar plexus, faintly taking his breath away. He loves Jaime, of course he does, he’s loved Jaime for years, in that quiet taken for granted way of someone that never questions whether a person will be there in the future. He’ll be there for Jaime, and Jaime will be there for him, and there’s absolutely nothing he can think of that would change that. It’s not until this moment that he realizes the depth to which Jaime worried he _would_ lose that bond, though, simply by confessing how much he loved them both. 

He knee-walks backward until he’s straddling his knees, unbuttons Jaime’s jeans and draws them down his legs. Jaime isn’t even half-hard yet, his dick barely flushed and interested so early, but Addam leans over and wraps his mouth around it anyway, sucking it between his lips and deep into his mouth. Jaime twitches, his hand tentatively resting on Addam’s head, fingers lightly carding through his hair. 

It’s easier like this to get most of Jaime’s cock in his mouth, sucking and licking as it hardens against his tongue, until it’s too thick to fit comfortably. He pulls back, using his hand to stroke what his mouth can no longer reach.

Jaime, as it turns out, is a talker, babbling nonsense: _Addam_ and _oh fuck_ and _god yes, you’re so good at this, you’re so good at sucking my dick, fuck you_. 

“Addam Addam Addam,” Jaime slaps at his shoulder, almost panicked. 

Addam pulls off, looking up at him, forearms braced on his thighs, chin still grazing his cock. “Yes?”

“Come here,” Jaime says, tugging on Addam’s forearm. 

He rolls his eyes but slides up Jaime’s body until he’s eye level with him. Jaime looks at him, something in his eyes so soft and open that suddenly, Addam can feel it in his chest, lodged somewhere near his diaphragm. 

“You’ll fuck me, right?” Jaime asks.

Addam groans; there has never been a human more simultaneously aggravating and arousing. He grabs one wrist at a time until he has Jaime pinned beneath him. His pupils widen immediately, going from interested to almost subspace levels of aroused in a few seconds. There had been a quip on the tip of Addam's tongue, edgy and playful, but that look makes him kiss Jaime fiercely, almost bruisingly. 

“Yeah, Jaime,” he says, softer than he means to, but maybe not as softly as he feels, “I’m gonna fuck you.”

Jaime blindly reaches, throwing open the bedside table and rooting around, his eyes never leaving Addam’s face, even as he tosses the lube between them, letting it rest on his breastbone. Addam looks down between them, trying to figure out the best way to--

“Hands and knees,” Addam says. 

Jaime’s chest hitches, but he turns over and goes to his hands and knees, bowing his back, on display. His skin, even the lighter flesh of his ass, is like burnished gold against Addam’s pale hands. He flips the cap on the lube and squirts some on his fingers, rubbing it between Jaime’s cheeks. Jaime jerks away at the first touch, more of a flinch than anything, but it gives Addam reason to pause. 

“It’s okay,” Jaime says shakily. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so cold.” 

Still, Addam goes slower, warming the lube between his fingers, using only his forefinger to massage the tight ring of muscle, while he soothes Jaime’s hip and flank with his other hand. “Relax,” he says softly. “I’ll go slowly, but I won’t be going anywhere if you don’t unclench. Literally.”

Jaime drops his forehead to the pillows below him, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, and just like that, Addam’s fingertip slips inside him. The choking heat of Jaime’s body around just his finger sends blood rushing to his cock. He rubs the heel of his other hand against the hardening length as he fucks Jaime with one finger until he pushes back into it, taking part in it and making quiet, curious noises bordering on pleasure. He winces, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth when Addam works a second finger alongside the first. 

“Have you ever done this?” Addam finally thinks to ask, stupidly late in the game. 

Jaime nods, takes a shuddering breath, and replies in a choked voice, “Once with Melara and a strap-on. She wasn’t into it. It was a while ago.” 

It’s not surprising, really. Both that Jaime had wanted to try it and that Melara hadn’t been into it. 

Addam rubs Jaime’s thigh with a heavy hand, like massaging out a cramp. “You sure you want to keep going? We can just blow each other.” 

Jaime’s head whips around, disappointment and worry in his expression.. “Nonono.” He reaches for Addam, wrapping a hand around his wrist. “We’re doing this. This in particular.” 

Addam can’t help but roll his eyes. He shifts more to the side so he can lean up and kiss his dumbass best friend, gently at first, slowly coaxing Jaime’s mouth open. He sighs as Jaime melts into him and Addam can finally glide his fingers gently back and forth, as the grip of Jaime’s muscles gradually relaxes enough for him to curl his fingers until--

Jaime whimpers curling into himself, his hands winding in the sheets. “ _Fuckfuckfuck. Fuck!_ ”

Addam buries his smile in a kiss between Jaime’s shoulders. “You ready?” he murmurs against the sweat-slick skin.

“Oh fuck yes.” 

Jaime moans when Addam pulls his fingers out, popping open the bedside drawer and sighing in relief at the box of condoms. Jaime is very nearly squirming by the time Addam gets the condom rolled on, and slicks his cock with enough lube to bank his own worries about too much friction. 

He rubs the tip of his cock over Jaime’s opening, not wanting to startle him by trying to slide right in. “Here we go,” he warns gently, achingly slowly working the head of his cock inside Jaime while he whimpers and twitches like he’s not sure if he should lean into or away from the intrusion. 

It’s not as if Addam thinks he deserves a medal for going slowly, but the urge to bury himself in the tight, hot grip of Jaime’s body is so desperate it takes the better half of his personality to hold himself back, let Jaime come to him. He waits until Jaime moves back and forth of his own accord, inviting more of Addam with every thrust; only then does Addam fuck into him harder. 

This time, at least, the groan sounds like one of pleasure instead of indecision or pain. It’s not the easy slide of his cock into a cunt, but it’s a different pressure, a different heat, somehow hard even at a slower, more shallow pace. 

When he finally reaches around to grab Jaime’s cock, it’s hard, and Jaime almost whines at the first stroke of Addam’s hand. 

Addam comes first, the shuddering, shaking, bone-rattling sort of orgasm that leaves him a trembling mess, desperately stroking Jaime’s cock until he cries out, his body clamping around Addam’s already sensitive cock, leaving him shaking even more. 

He takes a moment to catch his breath, heart thumping, thighs nearly cramped with strain, before he anchors Jaime with a hand and slowly slides out of him. Jaime whimpers anyway, stretching out to lie on his stomach, seemingly not caring if he’s smearing come everywhere. Addam turns to sit, legs dangling off the side of the bed, his hand curling around one of Jaime’s calves, rubbing it absently. 

When Jaime seems to be half-asleep, Addam gets up to take care of the mess of condom and lube, ignoring his shaky knees and expression in the mirror as he wets a washcloth under warm water to help clean up Jaime. He doesn’t think about it, he just does it, sitting beside him once more, wiping up the lube before gently pushing him so he’ll roll over and then cleaning the mess of come off of his cock and stomach, careful to be gentle. 

When he starts to move away to toss the washcloth in his clothes hamper, Jaime’s hand darts out and grabs his wrist. Addam freezes and looks over to find him with his eyes only half open, a soft-pleased smile on his face, the expression of someone who has been well and truly fucked. 

“Stay for a bit?” he asks softly. 

Addam’s breath hitches slightly before he can measure his response, but then he just shoves at Jaime’s knee. “Move over then. I’m not about to lie down in your mess.” 

Jaime snorts but scoots over to cover the damp spot on his sheets, patting the bed on the other side for Addam to lie down. 

Addam doesn’t gaze at Jaime until he dozes off, but he does brush back the damp hair clinging to his forehead and smooths some of the wilder curls so they won’t stick so easily to his face. 

\--

Addam isn’t nearly as subtle or as attached to the idea of subterfuge, so the next weekend, he stands in the kitchen door, looks them both dead in the eye, and says, “I’m going out to The Rock to drink beer and watch whatever games are on.” Jaime starts to open his mouth to ask if he wants company, but Addam holds up a hand to stop him. “No one else is invited. You two should stay in.” 

He says it with that sort of placid, but skewering look he has and walks out the door. 

Jaime looks at Brienne, watching the slow flood of pink blush from her cheeks down her neck. He smiles awkwardly and shrugs. At least she sort of huffs in affectionate annoyance and slips past him heading for the hallway, looking over her shoulder when she reaches his bedroom doorway, an unspoken question in the lifting of her eyebrows.

All he can do is follow. 

\--

Brienne is the dictionary definition of a tough nut to crack. He gets it _now_ , it just took a while to put all the pieces together. Jaime’s not an idiot, but...well, he never got bullied. He’s handsome and rich and charming. Those are just facts like the fact that his name is Jaime Lannister. 

Brienne is...none of those things and she’s spent her whole life, basically, being reminded of that. _Consistently_. 

So, he gets it now. They met Freshman year at KLU when they got into a pretty epic classroom debate over Bran the Broken in Professor Karstark’s History of War of the Seven Kingdoms. It’d only ended when Professor Karstark had separated them and threatened to drop them both from the class if they didn’t shut up. They’d both looked away from one another to find the rest of the students staring at them with expressions on a sliding scale of wariness to flat-out fear. It had stirred something in Jaime and … okay, he’d made it his mission to needle her and it had worked and they’d somehow become friends out of the deal, mutual respect and all that. 

It hadn’t been until she moved in with him and Addam that he -- no, that’s not true. It’s more that Jaime hadn’t allowed himself to think about it. Brienne mostly _tolerates_ him. Or mostly did at first. Now she’s one of his best friends, and he hers. There’s never been any point in imagining more to it. 

But now, here he is in his bedroom, standing five feet away from her while she looks around, as if she’s never been in it before, as if they don’t spend hours each week watching sports from his bed or shows that Addam isn’t interested in. So why he suddenly feels like his arms and legs are no longer attached to his body is -- well, it’s not confusing, he knows exactly why he feels that way. 

He stares at her as if she’s a mirage, an oasis of want, and if he gets too close she’ll vanish. She looks at him, an eyebrow raised, and a faint flush on the apples of her cheeks. She smiles faintly, an oddly sweet and comforting look on her face. 

“Do you want to watch a few innings of the game?” she asks.

He breathes a sigh of relief and immediately cringes. “Yes, but I do want to--”

“I know.” She perches on the edge of his bed, hands clasped lightly between her thighs. “But it doesn’t have to be today. Or tomorrow. Or -- there’s not a time clock here, Jaime. We’re not at the bottom of the ninth, you don’t have two outs and no one on base. Addam isn’t _actually_ the boss of us.”

He can’t help the snort of laughter, it comes out without consideration, but something within him untangles. She holds out a hand to him and scoots back until she’s against the wall and leaning against the headboard. Jaime follows her, crawling in beside her, sitting nearer to her than he usually dares. 

It happens slowly: his hand on her knee and then sliding up and down in light strokes; her leg curling over his so his fingers can press into the soft skin and hard muscle of her inner thigh; her hand joining his and encouraging him further; his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her running shorts to trace the line elastic where it meets the juncture of leg and cunt. 

She sighs and shifts, tilting her hips toward him, giving him more access to touch her. He presses his palm against her, to find her already damp, slick through her underwear. She whimpers when he grinds the heel of his hand at the apex; her hips thrust, her legs falling open even further.

When he takes his hand away, she opens her eyes, pupils wide and dark, confusion in the furrow between her brows. He doesn’t respond with words, just shifts to kneel, straddling her right leg, and leaning in for a heavy kiss. She moans and reaches up to curl her fingers in his hair, _tightly_.

It’s easier from there. Suddenly, it all makes perfect sense. He _knows_ Brienne and she knows him, and even if he has to learn all of the different ways to make her whimper and squirm. He can and he _will_.

It feels good just to kiss her, to slide his tongue along her own, to dry hump like he’s sixteen years old again and so horny he feels like he may explode. _She’s_ the one that escalates things, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt, gripping his ribs with her large hands. 

Gods, he wants to melt into her. 

He leans back on his knees to take his shirt off, breathing heavily, still straddling her leg, body tight with want of approval. Brienne glides a line along his torso, from the sparse hair over the top of his chest, down the line of his abs and through the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. He has to close his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath when she undoes the button and slowly unzips him, tracing the outline of his cock with her fingertips.

“Brienne,” he groans, leaning down to kiss her hotly again, shoving her shirt up until it’s over her breasts, moaning when she’s bare beneath it. He doesn’t even bother with the lead-up, leaning down to suck one nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue before lightly closing his teeth around it--not quite a bite, but the suggestion he could. Brienne gasps, arching against him; he grinds against her, wincing at the scrape of the open fly across his sensitive flesh. 

It’s untenable really, so he moves away, shifting down the bed, his hands gripping her shorts to pull them down. “Okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she says, it sounds hoarse, heavy with want. 

The musky smell of her arousal hits him square in the chest and the only thing he wants to do, maybe the only thing he’ll ever want to do, is bury himself between her thighs and savor her. He doesn’t care if it’s with his lips and tongue, or his cock, or his fingers, or some combination thereof. He just wants to make her feel good, feel as good as he knows he will. 

He locks eyes with her and rests his weight on the bed, nosing between her lips, sighing happily at how wet she is. He licks a line from her opening to her clit, retracing the line over and over until she winds a hand through his hair and coaxes him back to her clit, pressing him tightly to her and chanting _there there there._

Far be it from him to deny her anything. He sucks her clit into his mouth, swirls his tongue around it, trying to pay attention to when she grips him harder and her moaning sounds from deep in her chest. It’s not perfect and his jaw and tongue tire before she comes, but then she _does_ come, her thighs clamping around him, her strong grip holding him tight while she rubs the rest of her climax against his face, whimpering through hitching breaths until her muscles slowly relax again. 

She curls up to reach his arms and pull him up to her, kissing the taste of herself off his lips. “Fuck me,” she sighs against his mouth. “I want you inside me.” Jaime has to press his forehead to her collarbone and suck in a deep breath. He stands up and for a second she looks vaguely worried until he shoves off his jeans and underwear. “Bedside table,” she says. 

He grabs the condom, rolling it on, shuddering a little at the stroke of his lube-slick grip over his cock, and stares for just a moment more, taking in her flushed cheeks and damp chest before climbing between her legs once more. He palms her cunt, adding the lube to the wetness already there, and when he pushes inside, she wraps her legs around him, her calves holding tight to the back of his thighs as she seems to sigh into him, like a flag caught by a breeze.

It’s slow at first, the gentle rocking rhythm that he'd imagined she would want, a careful dismantling of the walls she uses to protect herself, but it changes quickly. She uses her legs to pull him into her harder, lifts to meet his every thrust. “Come on, Jaime,” she groans. “You can’t break me.”

Heat licks up his spine and he lifts himself enough to glare down at her, punctuating it with a sharp snap of his hips. She moans, her eyes fluttering closed, hands squeezing tightly. He uses every muscle in his body to fuck into her, a smirk on his lips as she chants his name, one hand curling around his neck to tangle her fingers in the longest strands of his hair that stick damply to the skin there.

It seems a shame to --

Brienne’s eyes open wide when he stops moving and rolls off of her, holding her opposite thigh while he does so, hoping she understands. There’s a fire in her eyes as she straddles him, sliding his cock between the lips of her cunt, her breath hitching as it moves along her clit. She shifts up enough to hold his cock in place as she sinks down, head flung back, a relieved little moan escaping when he’s fully sheathed. 

She rides him, and he takes full advantage of the opportunity to run his palms along every inch of her. Every curve and divot of muscle, the way her thighs relax and tense with each thrust, the way her abs stand out in stark relief in time with the walls of her cunt gripping him tightly. He slips a hand between them, fingers finding her clit. 

“No, no,” she says, grabbing his wrist. “Like this.” She uses her own fingers to show him how she likes it, a groan that sounds like the earth shifting coming from deep within her chest. 

The sound when she comes shakes him, the feel of her thighs trembling, the way her body clutches him within her as if she doesn’t want to let him go, the slam of her palms on his chest, hard enough to leave marks. Later, he’ll just be glad he lasted as long as he did, but for now he turns her once more and fucks her with the kind of single-minded determination he reserves for those moments of being pushed to his physical limits in the gym. 

She chants his name, her hands suddenly delicate on his back, and when he comes he can feel it in a straight line from the tip of his head to the ache of his balls. He has the presence of mind to fall into a heap on the other side of her, one leg hanging off the bed, his heart beating so fast it’s hard to get a deep breath.

“Fuck,” Brienne says and when he looks over at her, she’s staring at the ceiling a content little smile on her mouth. She turns her head to face him, “This took us way too long. All of us.”

“For once, I won’t argue your point.”

\--

Things shift in increments. Addam is shockingly aware of the others now, their bodies, the way they smell, their reactions to touch. They seem to make a point to brush against one another in the kitchen. When Jaime does the dishes, Brienne runs a hand along his side as she goes around him to the fridge. When Addam lounges on the couch to watch the game, Jaime sits near enough that their thighs nearly touch, the warmth of his body reminding Addam of the taste of his skin. When Brienne is still damp and flushed pink from the shower, Addam can’t resist the urge to raise his brows in question when she exits the bathroom in only her towel; she smiles and looks over her shoulder when she steps into her bedroom, but leaves the door open; he follows and kisses a bead of water that wends its way across her shoulder and down her arm, but he doesn’t push it further, just rests on her bed, watching as she dresses, ignoring the way his cock hardens at the sight. 

\--

“So.” Brienne is standing in the middle of Addam’s room, staring back and forth between him and Jaime, waiting for someone, _anyone_ , to move. 

“So,” Jaime echoes, glancing quickly at Addam before looking back at her. 

Addam looks between the two of them and rolls his eyes. “Good gods.” 

“Well!” Brienne protests. “How do we even start?”

“Not by standing around and staring at one another.”

She glares at Addam. 

“I think,” Jaime pipes in, “we’re supposed to do what feels natural.” 

“I don’t have a natural setting for a threesome,” Brienne snaps in frustration. Something about hearing it suddenly makes the absurdity of their situation hit her, and she guffaws before she can hold it back. She hates when she brays like a donkey, but it leaches some of the tension from Jaime’s shoulders and Addam has a smirk on his face. She rubs her hands over her face and finally admits, “I don’t like the idea of picking one of you to touch first.”

“We already agreed that we’re all in this together.” Addam shrugs. The thing is, Brienne knows that he’s being sincere, but it still feels dangerous. She bites down on her lower lip. Addam sighs. “Kiss Jaime first.”

She lifts an eyebrow. Addam lifts an eyebrow right back, but she walks to Jaime anyway, cups the back of his neck, and leans to kiss him softly. Jaime deepens it immediately, tracing his tongue along her lips, sliding it along her own when she opens to him. She startles at the second set of hands on her; Addam’s sidled up behind her, one hand on her stomach, one tangling with Jaime’s hand at her hip. He gives her a moment, stroking gently until her abs relax against his palm, only then does kiss a line along her shoulder, up her neck, his tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive spot just behind her ear. 

She sighs, reaching back to cup his head, arching between them, a bow of tension and want pressed against both men. Addam’s hands move to meet at the button of her jeans, hesitating for a moment before releasing it, sliding one of them inside her underwear; she feels more than hears the pleased noise he makes when he finds how wet she is already. He wastes no time, pressing between the lips of her cunt, his fingertips finding her clit with practiced ease; she gasps and thrusts, unclear even to herself if she wants him to continue or slip his fingers back and inside her. 

“Clothes,” she mumbles, grabbing the hem of Jaime’s t-shirt and rucking it up, unable to stop herself from running her hands up and down the hot, soft skin of his flank. But there are so many limbs and hands catching and shirts stuck around one arm and a neck and finally Brienne gives up, leaning back against Addam and cackling hysterically. “Break.”

Brienne’s laughter isn’t helped by the distance. Her jeans are halfway down her thighs; Addam’s shirt is around his neck like a scarf; Jaime’s sweats and underwear are only shoved down on one side, his cock half visible and held tight to his stomach by the elastic waistband. For a moment both men look at her so offended as to be sulking. 

“Shut up,” she says. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Jaime says; pouts, really. 

Brienne rolls her eyes. “I think the only way to do this is to undress ourselves. Undressing as a group seems to be an advanced move not meant for beginners.” The ire with which Addam pulls his shirt off his neck would be funny, _should_ be funny, except that it makes Brienne involuntarily rub her thighs together. She licks her lips when Jaime shoves his pants all the way off, his cock hard and flushed, already wet at the tip. “You should kiss each other,” she says, nearly surprised by the words herself. 

Addam lifts an eyebrow but walks over to Jaime anyway, pulling him in by the back of his head for a heavy, open-mouthed kiss. It’s filthy and delicious, and Brienne can’t possibly keep her hands from moving to her breast and cunt. Jaime’s hand goes to Addam’s cock, stroking up and down as she tries to match the rhythm of her fingers on herself. Mindlessly, she sits on Addam’s bed, shifting back enough to rest on one elbow and finally push two fingers inside, grinding the heel of her palm against her clit, moaning deeply.

The sound brings the attention of the men; they look at her with heavy-lidded eyes, their lips swollen and breath panting. They move as one to where she lies on the bed; she smiles. They look less like prowling wolves and more like the men she loves so much, intent and happy and excited. They crawl onto the bed on either side of her, Jaime to her right, Addam to her left. Jaime’s hand joins hers between her thighs as Addam turns her face to him, kissing her firmly and passionately. 

She bites his lip when Jaime scrapes her clit with his thumbnail, squeaking and pressing hers and Jaime’s fingers deeper inside of her aching body. Addam pulls away to smirk at her, holding her gaze as he slides down and draws her nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue before sucking. She holds her hand tightly against Jaime’s and turns on her side to better kiss Addam, rubbing her ass against Jaime’s cock and gripping Addam’s with her hand, still slick from her cunt.

It seems to flow easier after that; Jaime disappearing and coming back with condoms; Addam tearing one open and rolling it on Jaime, guiding Brienne to straddle Jaime and slide down on his cock. Addam moves until he’s just behind her, bracketing Jaime’s legs with his own, and wrapping his arms around her, teasing her breasts with one hand while his other finds its way to where she and Jaime are joined, stroking a path between there and the apex until she’s writhing and groaning. 

When she comes, she finally knows what an out of body experience is. Jaime is still fucking her when her head stops spinning, Addam’s cock pressing against her ass, his slick fingers brushing over the hole, a soft insistent pressure.

“Do you want both of us?” he murmurs against her ear. 

Her breath catches in her chest -- she does. Theoretically. In practice, the idea of both of them inside her at once is … surprisingly scary, it sounds like so much, too much, when she’s already shaking and overwhelmed. 

“Yes,” she says finally, breathless and rasping. “But not this time.” Addam rumbles, his chest vibrating against her back and Jaime fucks into her harder. “My mouth,” she says, suddenly wanting the weight and heat of his cock on her tongue. 

Addam goes still and then he’s gone, the bed shifting as he stands and walks around to the other side, his stare dubious and wary as he kneels once more, his knees just behind Jaime’s head. He strokes his hand up and down his cock, chest hitching with shallow breaths, his forearm tense, veins standing out in harsh relief. She leans forward, hands on either side of Jaime’s shoulders and leans down far enough to take Addam’s cock in her mouth, the shift of her body enough so that her clit glides over the hair on Jaime’s stomach with every thrust of his hips. 

Bracing herself on one hand, she reaches up and cups Addam’s balls, pulling lightly and rolling them in her palm, moaning as Addam’s hips judder with aborted thrusts. 

Jaime grips her hips tight enough to hurt, chants her name and all seven gods, _pulling_ her onto his cock as he grinds out his orgasm. When the shuddering stops, he reaches up and wraps a hand around Addam, surprising her enough she draws away. 

“Lie back, Addam,” Jaime says, interrupting the suffocation of panting and moaning. Addam raises an eyebrow and scowls as he disentangles himself from the both of them, lying flat, his head resting on the pillows, hand palming his twitching cock. “Straddle his face,” he tells her. 

Brienne whimpers at the thought of it, looking from Jaime’s certain, focused expression to Addam’s hungry one. Her thighs are shaky, her stomach still trembling as she places a knee on either side of his face. She looks over her shoulder to see Jaime pressing Addam’s legs wide enough to fit between them. He lifts an eyebrow at her, gesturing downward with his chin. She glances down at Addam; he nods once in agreement and she braces her hands on the wall and follows the pull of Addam’s grip until his nose runs in a line between her lips until his lips find her clit. 

The vibration of his moans quiver against her cunt as she rides his face, losing any notion she had about being careful not to rest too heavy on top of him. He nips her lightly, by accident she thinks, judging by the way he jerks beneath her. She should look at Jaime, she wants to see him, but all she can do is screw her eyes tighter, bite down on her lip and cry out as she comes again.

She fumbles when she rolls off of him, nearly slipping off the bed but she catches herself against the dresser, whimpering with the aftershocks of her climax. Addam groans like a man dying and she turns in time to see his face screw up in pleasure, dragging herself near enough to kiss the taste of herself off his mouth. He sucks her lip between his teeth, drawing on it so tightly she knows it must be plump, red, perhaps nearly bruised. 

When she finally tears her eyes from his face to Jaime’s he looks wrecked, face flushed and pupils blown, somehow satisfied and still needy. She holds out a hand to draw him up to the head of the bed where she and Addam are.

Jaime settles between them, a happy sigh and a content wriggle. Addam reaches around Jaime’s body to press his hand flat on her back, bringing them all just that fraction closer than they were before. Brienne has never felt this happy or this _safe_ , and the knowledge that she gets to have this and keep it wraps around her like a warm blanket. She smiles at Addam and presses a kiss to the side of Jaime’s neck, closing her eyes and letting sleep take her.


End file.
